The Chase

I remembered every single second of that afternoon. Every detail I still recalled. There was the chase. My body was filled with adrenaline.

It started on a Monday morning. My steak was charred solid. The coffee was spilled all over the table. Her face had that guilt-filled lip biting habit, like the one from the time she crashed our first car on a shopping trip. Even though I knew that there was something wrong, I pretended everything was fine. On Tuesday night, when I came home from work, she tried hiding that tear stained face of hers. I gave her space. Then came Wednesday, I woke up to the broken plates under the table. I kissed her on the cheek but she wiped it off. Thursday, I was worried. I called her in the phone. She told me that she was fine. Her voice shook as she spoke each word. I came home early that night. I tried to touch her shoulder but she dodged. I hugged her afterwards but she quickly pushed me away. I asked her, “Is anything wrong? Have I done anything?” She replied with the most fake smile. I knew it took every bit of her strength to fake it. I looked her in the eyes and told her that “I want the truth. You know I hate it when you lie.” Tears flowed out her eyes. She knelt and said, “I’m so sorry. Please. I am. I tried. I can’t!” I knew what went wrong. Nothing I did was right. I slept alone in the couch that night. She had the bedroom all to herself. Friday. I never forgot. I went to work as usual. In the afternoon, I felt worried again. I called home. “I’m so sorry. Please. I am. I tried. I can’t!” Her voice was weak. In a split second, I ran. I rode my car and went straight home. In my head was the image of my dear wife. I simply could not let her go. At the bridge, a taxi cab hit my rear. My car was busted. The driver came out and tried to apologize. I did not care. I ran. The long line of cars was the sign of the impending traffic. I ran. I never stopped. My lungs were pumping hard. The adrenaline filled my veins. I knew what would happen. I took a shortcut that led to the back of our house. I rushed inside. I went up to our bed room. There I found blood stains. I knew she was dead. I failed her. I knelt down and cried.

A hand pushed me down the ground. I shouted back. Tears flowed down my eyes. Something hit the back of my head. I blacked out.

I woke up in a chair. “Ah! Good morning Mr. Wayne! I have some questions for you.” I was confused. “I really need to go! My wife! She committed suicide! I need to go to-” “You don’t remember do you?” Further confused I asked, “What?” “You had been gone for a week since Friday. You murdered your wife.” “When you went back to your office, they alerted us. We guessed you’d return home,” he added. My eyes widened. I stood up immediately. Two guards came out and pushed me down on the table. I remembered.

I sat in the corner of my cell as I recalled everything. “I’m so sorry. Please. I am. I tried. I can’t!” “I love you but we have to make this work!” Her face hit the floor with her lip bit carved. I remembered every single second of that afternoon. Every detail I still recalled. There was the murder. My body filled with adrenaline.